


Sunday Morning

by nightmaresinwintah



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Gen, Happy Sam Wilson, Happy Steve Rogers, M/M, Secret Santa, Slice of Life, let Steve and Sam be happy!, soft, there's uh really not much else to tag this with but it's soft and cute and they're in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-09-17 07:47:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16970637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightmaresinwintah/pseuds/nightmaresinwintah
Summary: Sam and Steve have been together for a while now, and Sunday mornings are for them.ft Steve being a sappy asshole and Sam lapping up every second of it. And coffee. Always coffee.





	Sunday Morning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vextant](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vextant/gifts).



> Hiiiii!!
> 
> This is a slice-of-life of Sam and Steve's Sunday morning, my secret santa gift for [vextant!!](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vextant/pseuds/vextant) I hope you enjoy! This is my first time writing Sam/Steve, so I truly hope it does them justice :) <3

**

Mornings are slow, warm, languid. Mornings seep in through the cracks in the curtains and flow across the carpets, like a sugar-sweet wave lapping at the rocks. The dawn light sweeps over the end of their bed, creeps up the rumpled duvet like a sleepy child and lays down with them, curling over the dips of their collar bones and their interlocked fingers. 

Morning settles over them on a Sunday, the only day they don’t get up with the first breath of sun to greet the light. On Sundays, they let the morning wrap them up, nice and safe, even as the sheets fall from their bodies as it gets too hot. On Sundays, they bask in the glow of the dawn, wait for the other to hum out a low  _ good morning.  _

On Sundays, mornings are for them. 

“Good morning,” Steve murmurs, trailing a hand over Sam’s shoulder, up his neck and brushing fingers through his hair. 

Still shaking off the last remains of sleep, Sam mumbles the greeting back. The words are incoherent, but Steve knows what he’s saying. He’s incredible like this; it always takes Steve’s breath away, being able to lay beside Sam and watch him wake up. His eyelashes are ridiculously long, sweeping over his cheekbones as he blinks open eyes that Steve loves so much. 

Steve’s more of a morning person, what with the serum and not needing so much sleep, but Sam is always right there with him when he wakes up. If it takes a little longer for Sam to get with the fact that they’re  _ awake,  _ well. Steve is never opposed to laying in bed a little longer and holding him until he huffs out that little breath of  _ okay, I’m awake now, get off me, Rogers.  _

Until those words are uttered, though, Steve holds him and watches his lips curl into a smile as he comes to awareness. He always knows when Steve’s watching him, somehow. Always knows when to glance over and catch Steve’s eye, send him a wink or a smile. Always knows how to get Steve’s heart rate picking up and the wind knocked out of him as Steve falls in love with him all over again. 

Steve never thought it could be like  _ this,  _ that he could lay in bed with the person he loves and be wholly, utterly content. He never even imagined being able to have this. Never imagined that throwing a cheeky  _ on your left  _ at the frankly  _ beautiful  _ man running would lead to this. He’d figured what with his horrible attempt at flirting he’d never see him again. 

But here Sam is. In Steve’s arms, waking up with all the hurry of someone who has nowhere to be. There’s peace written into the lines of Sam’s face, and Steve only just stops himself from dipping his head to press kisses to each one. He lets Sam doze in the hazy morning light, and basks in the own fullness of his heart. 

It’s a feeling he will never be able to put into words. He can only  _ try  _ to explain it; it’s like a thousand butterflies, or the effervescent sound of a trickling stream, or a breath of fresh air. It’s like a symphony passing crescendo, or the calm of laying against fresh sheets, or whole-hearted, bone-shaking laughter. 

It’s a million things, and it’s all condensed down into the feeling Steve has for  _ Sam.  _

“I can hear you being sappy from here,” comes the mumble, and Steve refocuses on Sam’s face. 

Sam’s smiling up at him, eyes twinkling despite his accusations. Still, Steve flushes, ducking his head and burying his face in the crook of Sam’s shoulder. A hand comes up, warm, to trail over the planes of Steve’s back and Steve can’t help but shiver. “It’s Sunday,” Steve protests, which is his excuse every time. 

The mattress bounces as Sam laughs silently, and Steve’s smiling so big he’s pretty sure Sam can feel it against his skin. “Yeah, it is,” Sam agrees, smoothing his palm up and down Steve’s spine. “Your turn to make breakfast?” 

Steve gives a noncommittal noise, but it  _ is  _ his turn. “Yeah,” he grumbles, and he can picture the grin Sam’s wearing in his mind. 

“D’you have anything planned?” Sam teases, shuffling so he can roll over onto his side, now facing Steve. 

Steve looks at him with a surely dopey smile and comes up with the same things he always does. “Blueberry or banana?” he asks, the phantom smell of Sunday pancakes wafting past his nose. 

Sam rolls his eyes, but it’s so overly fond that Steve just grins and nudges him, waiting for an answer. Sam huffs, pushing at his shoulder half-heartedly, his own smile breaking out at the corners of his lips, unbidden. “Both,” he mutters, and Steve could have predicted that, but he always asks. 

“You got it,” Steve murmurs, and finally,  _ finally,  _ ducks in to press a kiss to Sam’s cheek. 

When he pulls away, Sam’s whole face has lit up just like the Sunday morning sun that has now settled over them like a blanket. Steve gazes at him for as long as the expression stays there, before Sam’s swatting at his hip and groaning, shoving his face into his pillow and grumbling about how Steve’s a sap and  _ unbearable, Rogers, honestly, I’m gonna lose all my teeth before I’m forty.  _

Steve just chortles and rolls out of bed to leave Sam to get up on his own terms. He can’t help the glance he casts back, though, and he grins as he finds Sam watching him go, the fondness on his face positively  _ glowing.  _

Steve pads to the kitchen feeling light as a feather, practically gliding across the carpet to settle at the fridge. He pulls out all the ingredients, sets them up on the counter and sets about mixing the batter. When the first pancake is on the stove, he flicks the jug on to prepare coffee. Like Sam can sense exactly when the caffeine is nearly ready, he appears from the bedroom rubbing at one eye and finishing tugging a sweater over his shoulders. 

Steve watches him out of the corner of his eye, finishing stirring in the teaspoon of sugar Sam takes his coffee with. As soon as Sam’s settled at the counter Steve’s setting the mug in front of him. Sam wraps his hand around it, ducking his head to inhale the steam coming off it, and makes an appreciative  _ mmmmm _ sound. 

Steve just grins at him, despite Sam being entirely focused on his coffee, and turns away to flip a pancake. 

“What have you got planned for today?” Sam asks after a brief moment with his coffee.

Steve snorts, setting the first pancake on a plate and getting started on the next one. “Nothin’, just wanted to spend time with you,” he says, reaching to grab his own coffee even as he keeps an eye on the pancake.

Sam hums, and Steve can picture the exact smile he’s currently wearing. It’s an image he’s got embedded in his mind, one he can call up at will. “You’re too goddamn cute, Steve,” Sam sighs, mirth lacing every word. 

Steve’s well used Sam’s compliments— _ observations,  _ he calls them—by now, but he still goes rosy every time Sam uses them. It’s become almost a game; how hard can Sam make Steve blush at a public event just by telling him how handsome he is, how kind and gentle. There are some fantastic pictures out there of Steve ducking his head with a bashful smile, cheeks flaming, while Sam laughs whole-heartedly beside him.

Sam has an entire album on his phone of these photos. It was all Steve could do to stop him from hanging a few in the hallway. 

“Yeah, well,  _ you _ are,” Steve mutters, and Sam gives that laugh that never fails to get Steve grinning. 

“You’re damn right I am, Rogers,” he says, and Steve throws him an exasperated but entirely agreeing look over his shoulder. 

Once the pancakes are ready, they move to sit on the couch, where most of the sun is in the morning. Steve kicks his feet up on the coffee table and Sam pushes at his legs, muttering about a lack of manners. Steve huffs out a laugh and obliges, instead throwing his legs over Sam’s lap. Sam throws him a playful glare, but it’s fond, so Steve just beams at him and shoves a bite of pancake in his mouth. 

Sam rolls his eyes and sets his plate on Steve’s shins. “You’re unbearable,” he says. 

Steve just grins at him. “But you love me anyway,” he says, confident in way that had taken him a long time to be.

“Yeah, for some reason, you big lug,” Sam sighs, and the corners of his lips are twitching up into that smile again. “Can’t believe how sweet you are. You had everyone fooled, Rogers. Never expected to be wooed in a park after getting  _ made fun of  _ for not being a supersoldier.”

Steve laughs, a loud, surprised sound. He’ll never get over Sam dropping how they met into casual conversation. He thinks that maybe Sam himself is still trying to wrap his head around it. “Hey, you’re the one who got wooed by my shitty flirting,” he points out.

Sam gives him a look and points at him with his fork. “Are you telling me I didn’t woo you back with my sweat and breathlessness?” he asks, playing bewildered. 

Steve just gives him a grin. “Oh, you absolutely did,” he says without an ounce of joking. 

Sam deadpans, shaking his head as if in mock disbelief. “I can’t believe you,” he sighs. “God, you’re such a romantic.” 

Steve laughs again, and pushes at him lightly, but Sam catches his hand and reels him in for a kiss. Steve goes easily, like putty in Sam’s hands, and hums against his lips. They’re both smiling into the kiss, and it’s a short one, but Steve still takes a moment to stare dopily at him when they part, rendered speechless for a moment.  

“Eat your pancakes, don’t give me that look,” Sam says, but he’s grinning down at his plate, entirely pleased with himself. Steve wants to brush his fingertips over his lips, relearn the trace of his smile. 

But Steve ducks his head, unashamed, and obligingly shoves a bite of pancake in his mouth. 

Mornings are slow, warm, languid. Mornings are for them, and Sunday mornings are for laughing at each other’s blushing cheeks and hoping they’ll be able to tease that reaction out of the other for the rest of their lives. Sunday mornings are for one of them serving the other breakfast and sipping at coffee while their legs are entwined on the couch, ticking the back of knees with toes. Sunday mornings are for falling in love all over again. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Happy Holidays to all and any that celebrate over this time!!!!


End file.
